Better Read Than Dead Bookstore Novels & Stories

It didn’t make any sense to me. They were lacking in social amenities and basic needs, but I could see that they don’t care about it, or they weren’t aware of what they could have, instead of rolling in their own downfall. I decided to explore more. It wasn’t really my cup of tea, but I was still intrigued. I was drawn in by their situation, that I couldn’t bring myself to turn back and hide in the mansion. There was this small shop that caught my eye. Barden’s Stories were written in bold letters atop the small shop. “Read and delve in your imagination” was written underneath it in cursive.

No surprise the whole department knew our names. Hearing the chief now, though? Yeah, they'd been warned about Keyla. Just ignored it. They probably thought those warnings were planted by us—like we sent people to spy. Made them resent us even more. Their buddies had all kinds of tips on winning back a girl. Edmond and Philip didn't need advice. They just never bothered trying with us. Then, right through the noise, Edmond's voice hit like a slap. "They're dead." The room froze. "They're both dead." Total silence.

It wasn't everyday a lowly storekeeper got to have a good-looking billionaire such as myself in their store, which was in a hell of a terrible condition by the way. "What's your name?" "Wh-What?" She came, like she was surprised I asked. "Your name? You do have one right browny locks?" She exhaled tiredly, "It's Amy." "Hmm, Amy, nice. So, why's your store in such bad condition? I mean you do know it's bad for business right? It's hot in here, it smells like some old, underground cemetery and of all things, why a fucking bookstore?" I asked. I truly had no filter when it came to saying things as they were to whomsoever.

It looked like completely normal life, and now that I knew exactly what existed beneath Black Hollow’s ordinary surface, the town somehow felt more alive instead of less. Harmony tugged my sleeve toward the bookstore near the corner. “I need a new thriller before finals completely destroy my remaining mental health.” I rolled my eyes. “You literally bought three books last week.” “And?” She looked personally offended by the math. The bell above Hollow & Pine Books chimed softly when we stepped inside. Warm air wrapped around us, carrying the scent of fresh coffee and old paper. The bookstore had been here forever, keeping the same creaky floors, the same crooked shelves, and the same old tab

He was almost done with this book, when his death made him almost cry. He was at the bookstore, reading this book comfortably, sitting on an armchair, enjoying the breeze in the bookstore in his neighborhood. It was an old shop with tons of books packed on the old wooden shelves, releasing a fragrance of old book, a mesmerizing aura of heaven for book lovers. One can see the upper floor stuffed with some large boxes, most probably stored with some more books. The shop had fewer customers than it had a few years ago. Most people are busy climbing up the social ladder to reach a peak, or some are too busy managing their social media, but book lovers crawl their way to their favorite shop to lo

"Let us go meet her." Chicago was a five hour drive. Liam drove. Anna sat in the back. I navigated. The rain followed us the whole way. Grey skies. Grey roads. Grey everything. The bookstore was called "Pages." It sat on a corner between a coffee shop and a flower store. The windows were full of bestsellers. A sign on the door said "Open." We walked in. Bells jingled. The smell of paper and old wood wrapped around me. Shelves stretched to the ceiling. A cat slept on a pile of romance novels.

Twelve days was a blip, a footnote, a fever dream brought on by proximity and adrenaline and really, really exceptional sex. Except I couldn’t stop dreaming about him. Couldn’t stop reaching for the other side of the bed in the dark. Couldn’t stop hearing his voice say my name like it was the only word he’d ever learned. The email came on a Thursday. No subject line. No signature. Just an address in Detroit and a single sentence: The Baldwin is better the second time around. I was on a flight by Friday morning. The address was a bookshop. Small, warm, tucked between a laundromat and a bakery on a quiet street. The sign above the door read Second Round Books and I laughed—actually laughed—sta

By the time we get back to my place, I’m so horny I nearly rip my dress off. The next day, he takes me to an old bookstore that has been run by the same owner for over sixty years. She refuses to alphabetize anything, but when Damien asks her for a specific book, she knows exactly where it is. It’s cramped and crowded, full of volumes of rare old books and gorgeous hardback covers. Damien buys sme a copy of Pride and Prejudice in French.

“Don’t make it dramatic.” “You just said somebody is watching you. That came dramatic.” “I said I think someone is watching me.” Sadie-Rae blinked. “You hear yourself, right?” Nova rubbed a hand across her forehead. The bookstore had belonged to women in her family for three generations, and apparently so had the inability to mind one’s own business. Sweetgum & Spine occupied the bottom floor of an old brick building squeezed between a florist and a bakery that closed far too early. The floors creaked, the shelves leaned in places they probably shouldn’t, and every winter the front window let in enough cold air to qualify as an architectural failure. Nova loved every inch of it.

As she turned off the engine, she glanced at the window where the store name was written in white: THE READING TEMPLE “That’s a cute name.” She commented as she hopped out of the truck, taking in the building. The brick structure stood tall before her with wide windows on either side of the door. Past those windows she could see book shelf after book shelf with countless titles on them. There were small platforms just before the windows, presenting the newest novels that were just published. She peered up to the windows above her. Her new home. She took a breath, steadying herself before pushing open the door.